


Caf Break

by Retro_Hussy (betsybo)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Can't think why, Crack Treated Seriously, I think?, M/M, Omega Firmus Piett, One Shot, Sexism, Sorry I don't believe in convenient biology, heats are like periods, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betsybo/pseuds/Retro_Hussy
Summary: Piett is just trying to enjoy his five-minutes, but he's got heat cramp and Ozzel won't shut up.
Relationships: Firmus Piett/Darth Vader, Implied Firmus Piett/Darth Vader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 108





	Caf Break

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is my first ever Alpha/Omega fic? It's not a trope I'm into in a massive way, but this idea wouldn't let go. So omega heats are more like periods – not fun at all. Also like my last fic I don't know if this would fit in with canon but we'll just have to pretend it does. Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing here.

“Well, I don’t think it’s at _all_ fair on you.”

“I can manage, sir.”

“Oh, you can _manage_ fine, of course. But the strain of it must be exhausting. _I_ certainly wouldn’t be happy if a little relative of mine was under such pressure.”

Piett suppresses a shudder. It’s an old-fashioned habit; to refer to omegas as ‘my little something’. He hopes the practice will die out with Ozzel; which might not be all that long now given the man’s track record. Every so often the admiral tries the same spiel; the ‘oh, you poor boy, you can’t possibly be expected to do this job you fragile thing’ shtick. He’s just pointing out one factor out of a long line that he feels makes Piett unsuited for a senior role, but _this_ is done beneath a saccharine and unconvincing attempt to show care, and unfortunately he’s started it right as Piett’s heat cramps are coming in full-force, and Lord Vader is still with them on the bridge.

The status report Vader came for is actually over, but he’s lingering; apparently observing the stars through the transparisteel in silent contemplation. Usually Piett would wait, but he was so desperate he’s actually risked taking his five-minute caf break (and by hells he needs it today) with their high-commander present. Unfortunately, that is probably why Ozzel thinks it’s a great time for this chat.

“These are modern times, I know,” he continues as Piett reluctantly listens. “Why, I once took command of a regiment largely consisting of betas and a few omegas. I _know_ how they like to be handled.”

Piett does not smile or do anything that might make it look as though he’s pleased with that comment, but he does lift his chin slightly in acknowledgement. Ozzel might be a fool, but he is admiral, and Piett is nothing if not professional. He knows that Ozzel, while affronted at the idea of having an omega captain, had initially hoped he might be easy to dominate and impress. Piett has successfully avoided indulging that fancy, but the price he pays is having to listen to Ozzel’s endless drivel as the man occasionally leans in just a little too close for his liking.

Contrary to folklore, alpha pheromones do not actually make omegas quake in their boots and want to submit, but it never stops Ozzel from trying. Mostly it's just agitating, especially from an invasive stranger, or an alpha you didn’t trust. Piett finds the idea every bit as irritating as the belief that heats cause omegas to go into a complete lust-frenzy. Frankly, he’s looking forward to the day he gets to an age where most alphas just won’t bother.

...Not that he would say _no_ to a good kriffing from someone worthwhile right about now. But as it is, remaining on his feet in increasing pain, and wearing what was tantamount to a diaper beneath his clothes will have to do for today.

There are decent enough painkillers available for heat cramp, but naturally the _Executor_ , the fleet’s finest, doesn’t carry enough of them. It’s a testament to the fact there are far more omegas on board than a man like Ozzel can comprehend. It’s beginning to make Piett consider other alternatives, side-effects be damned; it’s not like he’s ever made use of his reproductive system.

“You realise we _are_ different?” the Admiral continues, waving between the two of them. “My experiences have only confirmed it. Omegas do tend to frighten easily...”

Piett decides to chance zoning out at that.

Ozzel, Piett can tell, is waiting for Vader to overhear, come to the glorious realisation that he’s made an error in appointing a mere omega to the captaincy, and get rid of him. He’s actually not all that bothered by this part. Ozzel can try his best, but he’s fairly sure Vader knows anyway from the lack of alpha pheromones around him – if he _can_ sense those – he’s not sure. If not that, his small stature might have given him some indication, and if it had been important to him, it was on Piett’s file available for viewing at any time.

“ – and biology ought to be considered,” finishes Ozzel pompously. Then, he raises his own mug of caf towards Vader as the Sith lord has finally turned from the window and is moving off towards the exit. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Vader?”

Piett has to stand back and admire Ozzel’s gall sometimes. Aside from the over-familiarity and the fact Vader has shown no interest in their conversation whatsoever, there’s also no solid evidence that Vader _is_ an alpha himself, which is what Ozzel has clumsily implied. Admittedly Piett has guessed so too, judging by pretty much _everything_ about Vader, but across most parts of the galaxy it’s still considered the height of rudeness to just _assume_.

Vader halts and turns with the smoothness of a tracking gun port – and it's plain Ozzel’s suddenly wondering if he’s made a mistake – just as a particularly nasty ache flares across Piett's lower abdomen. As discreetly as possible he shifts his weight from one leg to the other and brings his hot mug close to his body for some relief. Vader’s helmet twitches in his direction at the movement, and Piett makes sure to straighten up in some show of deference.

“I have never observed that it plays any part in the execution of one’s duties, Admiral,” Vader answers finally, returning his attention to Ozzel as he slowly approaches them.

Out of the corner of his eye Piett’s fairly sure he spies one of the ensigns flinching as Vader says ‘execution’. As the man stops, towering over the two officers, his own little shiver feels quite unlike the one Ozzel produced earlier.

Ozzel merely gives Vader a puzzled look and a small laugh. “Ah, well _I_ have – sometimes – found that it _does,_ my Lord. I’ve witnessed many an upset amongst the omegas I’ve taken responsibility for.”

Vader doesn’t move an inch. “I don’t doubt it.”

The insult soars over Ozzel’s head with the speed of a crash-landing tie-advanced. He shoots Piett a kind of smug, pitying look, sets his mug down on one of the navigation dais and then swaggers off to go and bark something at Lieutenant Gray.

Piett doesn’t _dare_ meet Vader’s eye. He’s rather afraid he’ll either smile or start blushing like a fool. Probably both. He’s feeling a bit hot, despite the cold atmosphere of Vader’s presence. It seems his hormonal and over-tired brain has interpreted Vader’s slight against Ozzel as the man posturing on his behalf, which is a ridiculous and _extremely_ dangerous line of thinking. He shakes off the thought as quickly as he can, still holding the caf mug close.

It’s probably just because he can’t _stand_ Ozzel, he thinks. Yes, that’s it.

“Captain Piett,” says Vader, and Piett immediately looks up at him, terrified.

“Yes, my Lord?” he asks.

“I want a complete list of navigational stats from today. Perhaps you ought to sit somewhere and go over them.”

The peculiar order takes Piett a moment to process before he fully understands, and by that time Vader has already swept out. “Yes, my Lord,” he repeats to himself in whispered astonishment.


End file.
